


Remember Me?

by peach_pdf



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: -beeping noise-, Angst, Established Relationship, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mild Injuries, One-Shot, Vehicular Accident, but sunshine child, classic angst trope tbh, honestly this is just me tryna see how much angst i can shove down 1105 words, its all clean, kags finally got the guts to go out with sunshine child, no graphic description of anything tho, slight trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peach_pdf/pseuds/peach_pdf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But then there’s the boy.</p><p>He’s mean looking, and he wears his scowl religiously, but he’s seen it soften for him, and he feels weird, because he’s somewhere in between ‘I’m-sorry-I-can’t-remember-you’ and ‘I’m-sorry-but-don’t-worry-I-will-remember-you’ and he hasn’t got the slightest clue why he has to remember him, when there are about fourteen other people who visit everyday, and they are no doubt more peculiar than him. But the boy is different, God knows why. It was like he needed to be remembered more than anyone else. Like they were best friends or something. Like them being them mattered so much.</p><p>Like they had something.</p><p>--</p><p>angsty kagehins for the soul yo</p><p>[*]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm terrible at delivery of like. Any fic at all sorry

Hinata Shouyou's head throbs, and it hurts to open his eyes. Somehow, by sheer willpower, maybe, they wrench open and he is blinded for a moment, light pouring from the hospital room windows and into the gaping hole in his head, nausea climbing up his throat and spilling in salty drops down his cheeks.

 

He doesn’t remember anything.

 

And it’s sad, because everyday a group of boys come and visit him in his room and they’re holding flowers and wearing sad smiles.

“Hinata,” a man with bright yellow hair and a sharp voice says. He knows that name. He remembers it. It’s his own. “Are you feeling better?” “Much,” he replies. He acts like its normal, talking to what were supposed to be familiar faces even if he didn’t know them at all. They were nice enough. He must have known them well. “Remember anything?” Another voice. Still as foreign as the first, as hopeful, as apologetic. Hinata frowns, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, and it left no trace on his sunshine features. “Not really, no.” There’s a painful silence, then, “I’m sorry.” and “Don’t be- it’s not your fault.” And this is how it goes everyday.

It makes him wanna be punched in the gut. It was painful for him, thinking about how wrong they must feel, those boys with the sad smiles and tears shining just behind their eyes. It was so wrong. Sometimes, it’s them he wants to punch in the gut. “Stop,” he wants to say, because he can’t remember and he doesn’t want them to try and make him anymore.

The visits are often from the boys in his school. Sometimes from another. All of them are horribly unfamiliar, and when he thinks real hard and tries to remember them, his temples hurt and all he can see is a bright light and then watching that light just die.

 

“Vehicular accident,” he hears one of them say. It was his first night, and there were beeping sounds and the smell of alcohol was thick in his nostrils and it made his eyes water. “…memory loss..” It’s the same person, and he decided it must be the doctor because his voice is weary with burden. There are other voices, more youthful, sometimes demanding and angry, and they questioned everything. They talked like they’ve forgotten that only four inch walls stood between them and him, and that the machines droning couldn’t even drown out his mother’s sobs.

 

But then there’s  _the boy_.

 

He’s mean looking, and he wears his scowl religiously, but he’s seen it soften for him, and he feels weird, because he’s somewhere in between ‘I’m-sorry-I-can’t-remember-you’ and ‘I’m-sorry-but-don’t-worry-I-will-remember-you’ and he hasn’t got the slightest clue why he has to remember him, when there are about fourteen other people who visit everyday, and they are no doubt more peculiar than him (like the boys in red that have eyes like cats). But the boy is different, God knows why.

He’s also treated differently by the rest of the team. They give him space. Not just him.  _Them_. Like he needed to be remembered more than anyone else. Like they were best friends or  _something_. Like  _them_   _being them mattered so much._

Like they had something.

 

He walks into his room fifteen minutes earlier than the rest, dark bluish hair sticking to his creased excuse of a forehead, and he doesn’t bring sunflowers or lilacs like the rest of the team (he’s been informed that he was a volleyball player) and instead hands him a brown paper package that smells like home and sunsets. “Here,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid sudden movements and four letter words frighten him, and it’s funny because they do not. The first time this happened, he was confused, and then his features broke into a grin. He didn’t know who he was yet, or what was inside the package, but it felt _right_. He hasn’t felt right for two weeks.

It was good. The meat buns _and_ the feeling. It was like being embraced by a total stranger, except you kind of just fit, like your arms were made to be looped around them and the crook of their neck was just the size for your face.

There were casts on his legs and bandages on his arms and he felt so useless, like some broken doll that they didn’t throw away just because it’s been theirs long enough. But the boy doesn’t make him feel that way, and he prays for the day he understands why. They talk some more and the hospital air smells less like alcohol and more like summer rain.

It’s the end of his first month, and he knows his teammates names by heart, and the boy’s by soul, and he still has no explanation whatsoever. It gnaws at his insides everyday, and he has to understand why. The boy, Kageyama, is different. He’s an asshole sometimes, saying stupid things that were supposed to be mean, then he catches himself, freezes, and doesn’t say whatever horrible insult it was that he wanted to throw at him, and Hinata thinks he’s probably trying to be nice, except he wasn’t good at it.

 

It was his second month and third day, and Kageyama is his best friend. It’s nice. He feels a little more complete, a little more right than he did when Kageyama wasn’t Kageyama, when he was just the boy that he didn’t quite understand and the boy who made his heart ache.

 

“Tell me more,”

It’s the third month, and the doctor says he’ll be out of here soon. He can’t wait–-he hates this place, but he puts up with it because Kageyama is here. “We do these attacks called ‘quicks’ and it’s really great because everyone is always taken by surprise.” Hinata smiles and scratches his red arms. They’ve been horribly itchy since they took the bandages off, but it felt nice. Sticky, but nice. “We sound like we made a great pair,” he says, and Kageyama’s face fell. “We did, you know?”

There’s something different in his voice, and it’s pain. Hinata knows because it’s how his mother sounded when they talked,and it’s how he speaks when he thinks about how he hurts all his friends because goddamn it he just can’t remember. Hinata trembles, and he knows something is gonna happen. Something did.

Kageyama scoots closer, and he leans forward, and their lips touch. _This_ was what they had. Hinata kisses back, Jesus, _Why am I kissing back?_  and he’s crying because he **_must’ve been_** in love with this boy.

And he isn't  _now._

 

"Hey, remember me yet?"

Hinata isn't in love with the boy who is in love with him; not anymore.

Not  _anymore._

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://seraphim-saurus.tumblr.com/
> 
> also yea that's my tumblr and it would be hella rad of you to drop by my ask and tell me how you feel about my first work.
> 
> so that's basically it. yeah. thanks so much for checking this out, i hope you didn't find it as bad as i did (i did not have FUN writing THIS PARTICULAR PIECE. i felt things.) and you go and have a lovely day!!


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